


Sticks and Stones

by daringlybelieving



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 16:52:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daringlybelieving/pseuds/daringlybelieving
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merle always said he had a thick skull.<br/>Takes place after Chupacabra</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticks and Stones

        Andrea stared blankly out across the fields from her spot on the porch steps. Repeating echoes of a single rifle shot and the frantic yells of both Rick and herself were circling her mind; had been plaguing her all evening. Even with Dale’s reassurances that Daryl was just fine she couldn’t stop the sinking feeling or the tightness in her throat when she thought about it; she had, after all, come damn close to killing him. 

        She flinched lightly as she heard the door to the farmhouse creak open, but otherwise ignored it. It was most likely Dale coming to continue his portrayal of the protective father figure that he had become, offering her someone to talk to if she needed it. 

        She was surprised instead to hear a pained groan as heavy-booted feet shuffled slowly across the porch. She was on her feet before the door had a chance to swing closed fully, concern bubbling to the surface as Daryl made his way sluggishly towards her. 

        "Daryl, what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she bit out as she stepped hurriedly closer to him, wrapping one arm around his back and holding onto his arm with the other in an attempt to keep the swaying man upright. “You supposed to be in bed.” 

        Daryl shook himself loose from her grip and trundled over to the steps, “Shit, Andrea, I’m fine,” he drawled as he lowered himself carefully to the floor, biting back a grunt as he did so, “Dale said you were out ‘ere, and since you wouldn’t come an’ see me, I thought I’d come an’ see you.” He twisted until he was sat relatively sideways, propping himself up on his elbow to keep his throbbing side away from the step. It wasn’t the most comfortable he could have been, especially after that bed, but for the moment he was willing to deal. 

        Andrea watched him silently as he adjusted himself, catching the small winces that crossed his face when he moved an inch too much. “You just gunna stand there starin’ or are you gunna sit your ass down?” he asked, fixing her with a look until she hesitantly sat beside him on the top step and folded her arms around her knees. 

        They were silent for a few moments, listening to the quiet of the Georgia night mixed with the muted sounds of movement from within the Greene house. Andrea was sure she could feel him watching her, but whenever she cast her eyes to the side, he was gazing at the same expanse of land she had been just moments before. Each time she caught sight of the thick white bandage encircling Daryl’s head she felt an overwhelming tidal wave of guilt wash over her, an all to familiar feeling for her. 

        “I’m sorry.” The almost-whisper caught Daryl by surprise. He had been expecting her to grovel at his feet, beg his forgiveness. He wasn’t prepared for the defeated tone those two words took as they fell from her tongue. For reasons he had yet to fathom, he realised it scared him. She had never given him a definitive answer to the question he had posed that day at the campsite, and while it was clear to everyone that she was having a difficult time dealing with Amy’s death, blaming herself for not being able to protect her little sister, Daryl had the nagging feeling that if she had succeeded in killing him, it would have pushed her over the brink. Something he was sure he didn’t want to happen. 

        “I know y’are.” He glanced over at her, taking in her slumped shoulders and bowed head, “That damn horse done caused most of the damage anyway.” He said lightly. 

       Andrea brought her head up and looked at him with wide eyes, “I _shot you_ , Daryl! I almost killed you!” he could almost see his reflection in the pale green orbs as she gaped silently at him, not missing how they were slowly filling with unshed tears. 

       He chuckled lightly, wincing again as the movement caused another twinge in his side, “Suppose I should be glad you can’t shoot worth a damn.” He grinned crookedly at her when she slapped at his arm. 

       “I think your head would beg to differ.” She reached up to gently brush her fingers across the section of bandage that covered the bullet graze, frowning as she did so. 

       Instead of jerking his head away as he would normally have been inclined to do, he stayed perfectly still and waited patiently as she trekked the pads of her fingers along the side of his head. He released a quite sigh as she pulled her hand away, unsure of why he missed the brief contact; it wasn’t as if she was his type, and he severely doubted she would be interested in a brooding redneck who had a better relationship with his crossbow than he did with any of the people in the group. 

       “Yeah well, Merle always said I had a thick skull,” he smirked and touched his head, “guess he was right for once.” 

       Andrea nodded absent-mindedly and brought her knees closer to her chest, “Do you think we’ll find Sophia?” she asked quietly. With every day that had passed since the little girl’s disappearance she could feel what little hope she had of them finding her slipping further and further away. At least until Daryl’s discovery at the river. 

       Daryl sighed heavily and shifted in a vain attempt to get comfortable, or at least as comfortable as you could be after having a crossbow bolt in your side. “Yeah, I do.” he said simply, turning to look back out at the fields. 

       Andrea knew that if she could see him properly, she would undoubtedly see a steely determination reflected on his dirt-streaked face. “You’re not gonna give up are you.” She said it as a statement, not a question, already knowing what his answer would be. If he couldn’t find his brother, he was sure as hell not going to give up until he found Sophia. 

      “That little girl deserves to be with her mama,” he paused and glanced at her, “Nobody should be alone in this shit-storm.” 

       In that moment, Andrea realised he understood. He had lost his brother, and while the circumstances between Amy’s death and Merle’s disappearance were entirely different, she realised that his situation was quite possibly far more distressing than her own; she knew what happened to her sister, and in a small way that she had yet to understand, she was relieved that her baby sister no longer had to endure living in fear on a daily basis, never knowing when or if she would be cornered by Walkers. She knew that that was part of the reason she had wanted to stay behind at the CDC; to die on her own terms like Jenner and Jacqui. 

       But Daryl didn’t know what had happened to Merle, and she believed, in a way that was worse. The other members of the group may not have liked Merle, but she knew that Daryl loved him and because of that, understood exactly what Carol was feeling. 

       She gave him a small, reassuring smile, “You’re right. We’ll find her.” 

       He nodded slowly in response and returned his gaze to the fields, barely able to make out the shapes of the cows grazing at the far end. “But, first you need t’ learn how to shoot.” He said. Beside him, he heard Andrea groan in embarrassment, and his lips twitched upwards into the tiniest of smirks.


End file.
